Remissions of PerditionResurrections of Ascendancy
by Emperor Sunny
Summary: Charity is about to ride the lightning. Severus is torn between Scylla and Charybdis. Together, their paths intertwine on one dark, depressing night that leads to the death of one, and the Ascendancy of both. Based off of the first chapter from Book 7.


Charity is about to ride the lightning. Severus is torn between Scylla and Charybdis. Together, their paths intertwine on one dark, depressing night that leads to the death of one, and the Ascendancy of both. Based off of the first chapter from Book 7- The Deathly Hallows.

Hello, hello, hello! Merry Christmas dudes and dudettes! This here is a story that I was inspired to write while listen to the metal playlist to the Genius randomizer thing on my iTunes. First came Trivium's Torn Between Scylla and Charybdis, and later a song from Metallica's Ride The Lightning album played. And that was when this situation popped into my head, so I said, "Why not?"

Well, _**ENJOI**_.

**Remissions of Perdition, Resurrections of Ascendancy **

_1 July, 1997_

The shackles that held Charity Burbage aloft over the table clanked as she shifted painfully. She was dangling with her back to the ceiling, which meant that her center of gravity had forced her middle to push towards the floor unusually, arching her back to the point where she wished it would just break, and get it over with. Cold steel rendered uncomfortably warm from naked body heat dug into the skin of her wrists and ankles and she almost screamed from the torment when she tried to move them.

_Gravity_, she thought, running her knowledge through her head. That was all she had, for she had no more respect (her subject never was highly endeared at Hogwarts,) had no more dignity (that was stripped from her when the Death Eaters stripped her from her home, stripped her of her clothes, beat away her innocence, and chained her face down from the ceiling,) and no more freedom; hence the whole "_being chained up"_ thing.

_Gravity. A scientific theory developed by muggles to help better understand why things were held to the ground. Sir Isaac Newton originally discovered the theory in 1946 when the famous apple fell from the tree and knocked the poor fellow upside the head. Or so the legend goes. _

_And steel, another muggle invention, how beautifully ironic_, Charity thought part ruefully, sarcastically, part almost desperately. If the Malfoys, or You-Know-Who himself had knowledge of this, they'd probably scamper from the room as if running from the plague and Avada Kedavra themselves for locking up a prisoner with it, so hateful of anything _muggle_ were they.

The room itself was a damp, dank, cold place that made her skin creep with goose-bumps. She reasoned that she was in a room in the dungeon, again how fitting. Dungeons were renowned for holding prisoners, especially those marked for death. And to death she was most definitely heading towards. _Into the mouth of Hell, I hang._

Charity never was good at jokes.

How quick, it seemed to poor, poor Charity, that it came up upon her. It felt like yesterday she was a fresh out of university at the Merlinsonian Institute, with a hard-earned Interactions with Muggles degree, and a minor in Muggle psychology. The days of starving out a living as a full-time student and working at the Ministry's Magical Archives were over- she'd get promoted to a Muggle Liaison post and work with Magical Law Enforcement and Obliviators and have enough pay for a house, always have a full, hot meal, and she could actually start _dating_… Maybe that DonaldSeward, the handsome, if not garish muggle-Goth music major who asked her out on more than one occasion.

She remembered that gelled and dyed black Mohawk of his, and how much she just wanted to touch it, and stroke it. And she remembered his kind, warm blue eyes and how he always had black makeup around them to make it look as if he was dead. Everybody, even many of her professors, had snidely commented about that behind his back, but even though she agreed verbally, she secretly enjoyed his bravery to express himself, and to wear his feelings out on his sleeve in such a way. She thought that it was actually kind of cute.

But then, on graduation day, back in 1990, her dreams came crashing down. As soon as the long and strenuous ceremonies were over, and Donnie Sew, as he liked to be called, gave her a hug, claiming he was going to back to America to living his dream of being a musician. The same day she was going to ask him to actually go out on that first date, finally. The day she hoped would be the start of the rest of _their_ lives, not just _hers_. Her heart already shattered, Charity thought nothing would get any worse until that one moment when the head of the Department of Muggle Interactions Office personally came to her after the ceremony, just moments after Donnie left, to inform that oh, I'm so sorry Miss Burbage, we cannot accept your application for advancement…

The rest you can figure out.

However, that night after staying at her hell-hole apartment, getting piss-faced drunk off of Old Ogden's with a bunch of other female classmates whose company she didn't even enjoy, a knock came to her dingy door. And with a flick of her wand, the magical barriers unlocked (a spell she was actually able to perform, despite the fact that she wasn't very good with magic,) and she opened the door to none other than her old Headmaster, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore himself.

He had a proposal. It took a few seconds for her alcohol-addled brain to register that word, proposal. She remembered the good Professor being very gracious and understanding about it all, and smiling, eyes ever-twinkling, as he awaited her approval. Once it registered that he was asking her about a proposal, she quickly (and rather tipsily) welcomed him in. She even asked him if he wanted some of her Firewhiskey, which he graciously declined, but oh, he _would_ like a spot of _tea_…

So he watched as Charity, in her drunken stupor, clamored and banged around her economy-sized kitchen, clumsily getting boiling water in a pot and nearly spilling it on him when she went to pour it. Gently taking the tea kettle from her hands, eyes twinkling merrily as ever, he poured a cup for himself and Charity before he cleared his throat. Then it was time for business.

And that night, Dumbledore hired himself a replacement Muggle studies professor, a drunken college graduate who previously had no foreseeable hope of a future before that night. And thus began Charity's bubbly, if not well-respected, career at her old school.

Looking back, she figured she should have told the old bat she'd rather work as an Archive clerk for the rest of her life.

* * *

Severus Snape walked into the opulent and magnificent halls of Malfoy Manor with his signature, self-assured stride, Yaxley directly at his side. Much work was to be done, for both of his "masters," even if he had actually _killed_ one of them. Dumbledore had made him swear he'd do it, and do it he did. Even if it killed Snape himself to do it…

And kill him it did. Dumbledore was the man he had admired most, his reason for actually playing the anti-heroic double agent for the Death Eaters and the Order. While he originally thought that yes, he was indeed playing his role to make amends for what he had done to his one true love, he had, over time, realized that he had also sought Dumbledore's forgiveness and salvation just as much, if not more. Albus had shown him much; forgiveness, redemption, a home, a purpose, a means. And now… well, now Harry Potter wasn't the only one who didn't know what direction he should take now, too, did he?

Snape had played what he had considered an almost mindless puppet for so long that now that he had the reins for himself, he didn't know what he should do with them. He was at an impasse.

_Just do what the Dark Lord requires_, he amended to himself. _The rest will come in time…_

"You're here early, Severus," Narcissa Malfoy's shaking voice reached to him as he walked in to the Manor's ground level common room.

Yaxley, sensing that he was acting a third wheel, patted Severus on the shoulder. "I'm going to find Lucius."

"You'll find him in his study," Narcissa informed him. With a nod, he flew up the stairs quickly, taking the steps two at a time.

"It is best not to keep the Dark Lord waiting, Narcissa. He, I'm sure, would dislike any abnormal tardiness."

"Yes, he is a man of little patience, if he is truly a man at all. But it's no worry for now; he hasn't arrived from a little errand he scurried off to."

Her bold statement sent Severus mentally reeling. The Malfoy matron would never speak so brazenly in anybody else's presence, but her trust in him was well placed. He would speak nothing of her bad-mouthing; he felt the same way. In fact, to a certain degree, they were in the same boat. And despite what Harry Potter might think, he never stabbed an ally in the back…

"Your words, while spoken in confidence to me, must never-"

"Be reiterated ever again, yes, I know. But he has done something awful to achieve his so-called perfect appearance, and I don't really care for his cause in the same way my… _family_ does."

And out of the bag came the cat. She had known, to some level, that Severus had some form of dislike, maybe even rebellious feelings, toward their common dictator. That meant that either a) she felt very much the same way, or b) she was trying to lure him into admitting rebellious feelings, so that she could reaffirm the Dark Lord's faith in her family. Either way, the very halls of their leader's self-proclaimed palace was a dangerous place indeed to hold such a… conversation.

And that was what it had to remain, a conversation, if only for now. Harry Potter must have the time to carry out his mission, destroy the Horcruxes, and then systematically die himself before any other form of decisive action could take place. But dispelling her from such a talk would be difficult at best. He had to string her along, and wind the discussion through her determination. If she truly did want to rebel, then he needed to keep the option open to him. But if she wanted to merely turn him over to Voldemort to restore his fickle, lost trust with her son and husband, he couldn't just tell her, '_Well, now's not a good time to plan our leader's death, can I leave an owl when the time is right?'_

Such bluntness would end any spy. And Severus prided himself on how he would not become another statistic.

"Narcissa- and, ah, Severus," Lucius Malfoy's tilting drawl of a voice, blatantly withered from his period of imprisonment in Azkaban, shattered the cold tension in the sitting room. He descended the staircase slowly, as if he was still recovering from the atrophy of living in a four-by-eight cell. "The Dark Lord has arrived. Our meeting will start now."

* * *

The first thing Snape noticed was the naked body of a prisoner hanging from the ceiling over the table. At first he thought the woman was dead, but at the sound of the heavy dungeon door closing, she shifted to regard the newcomers. And with a flash of recognition, Snape identified the young woman as a colleague (or maybe former colleague) of his. The fearful, slightly crazed look stole from her natural beauty almost to the point where he couldn't identify her, but he knew that it really was Charity Burbage.

"Severus," the Dark Lord's high voice called out to him in an almost whisper, "Here," he pointed at the seat to his immediate right. "And Yaxley- beside Dolohov."

And so the meeting began.

With a flicker of fear mixed with regret, he took a seat at the table.

Charity twisted herself towards the door, despite the pain and discomfort. What she saw made her blood run cold; He-Who-Must-Not-Named himself!

The monster, the Thing-That-Should-Not-Be, in her high opinion, raised his gaze up at her nude form and formed a sinister smile at her plight, a smile that didn't reach his red eyes. "Silencio," he chanted firmly, pointing his bone-white wand at her. "That should keep you quiet for a while, dog. And to keep you from squirming…" He flicked his wand and her body was racked with a sudden paralysis that froze her in her place, causing pain to electrocute her limbs. The very force of the spell sent her dangling prison to swing around in circles, sending more sparks to fly throughout her body. _I'm going to die_, she thought resignedly. _And if that's true, please just get it over with_.

But he simply watched her swing, as if he was seeing a rather nice matinee. He seemed to revel in the fear and embarrassment that escaped her green eyes as her long, rebellious locks of brown hair fell down from her head, curtaining her face in a curly, limp curtain. With her bruised and broken body stiff from the body-binding spell, she seemed like a morbidly realistic statue, a macabre piece of art for his special viewing pleasure.

When the other death Eaters came in, a meeting started. A deep, snide, familiar voice was present throughout. Snape? It had to be, the pompous git. He had killed Dumbledore, and was now talking to You-Know-Who about killing Harry Potter as he was planning on abandoning the only place he knew of as his home. Charity never had the boy in any of her classes, but she had his good friend Hermione, who was a brilliant and bright witch with nothing but praise for him. She had also seen him during his time at Hogwarts, and was impressed with the way he handled himself in everything he did, from bullies to classes to surviving the Tri-Wizard tournament.

Bringing herself out of her wayward thoughts, she listened again to the Death Eater Convention as it took place beneath her. They were then talking about infiltrating the Ministry of Magic; if her blood hadn't turned cold before, it sure as hell was frozen over now. The feeling of being trapped under ice caused her heartbeat to pump so wildly she was certain that its cadence could wake the deepest sleeping dead. How could things hit the fan so quick, so hard?

And then the conversation's attention was brought to her, once again. She had finally turned back to where the Dark Lord's seat was back in her field of vision, front and center, and sure as rain, Snape was to his direct right. He held up his hand, and the spinning trap stopped its repetitive turning. A snake that had to be thirty feet long and seven feet in diameter had entwined itself with his body, staring at her hungrily, and if a snake could actually _look_ hungry, this one sure did.

The Dark Lord flicked his wand of yew, and her invisible bonds released its hold on her body and voice. "Do you recognize our guest, Severus?"

Severus regarded the struggling figure of his fellow- or rather, _former_ fellow teacher with an externally cold air. She looked like she had been run over by a muggle car, and her face was stricken with fear. "Severus, help me!"

"Ah, yes," was his aloof reply. On the inside, he was sickened.

Her face was stricken with fear. Fear of what was going to happen next, the fear of the unknown. But she truthfully knew what was coming, and her eyes, which were dead with the realization that _she was going to die_, contrasted to the terror written on her young, bruised face. Severus felt like getting up from the table, heading to the nearest toilet, and vomiting up his dinner. No one should be put through such disgrace.

"And you, Draco?"

Snape redirected his attention to the obviously distraught boy, who meekly shook his head.

"But you would not have taken her classes, for those of you didn't know, we are joined here tonight by Charity Burbage who, until recently, taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

The sounds of chattering from the other Death Eaters insulting and jeering at her finally broke Snape's attention from the topic. His mind wandered, and he couldn't help but feel shocked at his newfound morality. It stopped being a surprise when he finally realized that it was Lily Evans-Potter's legacy to him; compassion. And with that surge of emotion, he felt an extremely strong urge to take a muggle firearm, something that old Sirius Black was always fond of, and put a lead slug into each of the sneering, cracking faces at the table prior to burning their bodies in an inferno of lit kerosene.

He was snapped from his fantasies when he heard his Dark Lord scream, "_Avada Kedavra_!"

* * *

Charity was to the point of hysterics as she pleaded with her colleague. "Severus… please… _please_…"

"Silence," the Dark Lord commanded. She didn't listen to him. She just kept muttering "Please… please…" silently, staring at Snape, _imploring_ Snape, who looked distractedly at the floor.

Voldemort finished his little tirade, and took a second to stare at Charity in consternation. She finally shut up and stared at him in fear. She knew that at that moment, he was going to kill her. He'd probably feed her to his snake, too.

"_Avada Kedavra_," he whispered.

Charity saw the green light travel towards her in slow motion. Her life started to play itself out in her mind's eye, from not just the moment of her birth, but very conception. And when the green-charged electricity slammed her in the chest, she felt her heart stop, and instead of going into fast forward, her memories, playing like an old projector, made themselves vivid to her. The day she got her Hogwarts letter, the day her father left the country, because he _just couldn't take it anymore_, her graduation from Hogwarts, the confirmation of her scholarship to the Merlinsonian, and everything in between. It was like she had grown a photographic memory, and in an instant, felt all the emotions from the memories before falling into a serenity. She couldn't move her eyes, but she could still see even as the blackness took over the edges. She smelled the sweat and the mold of the dungeon, but lost that sense as well. Finally, she lost all of her sense, but she could still hear. And as she heard the snide laughter, she distinctly heard the Dark Lord whisper, "Dinner, Nagini."

And everything went black.

…

…

… and then white. Why was she surrounded by white? And why was she in Donald Seward's arms?

"Because I overdosed on acid two years ago."

"Donnie?"

"Your one and only, sweetheart. Your one and only."

* * *

Severus stalked the barren lanes of Spinner's End slowly, and with great depression. It seemed like all that he knew was falling apart around him, and despite his efforts, everything kept jumping in his path. Being made Headmaster of Hogwarts, finding the true intentions behind Narcissa's rebellious words, and aiding Harry Potter as discreetly as possible. At first he was like a two-headed dog, with a different master holding a separate leash, only they both knew that one was each holding a head but thought he was in turn in control of the whole animal. But now that Dumbledore was dead, at Snape's hand, under Albus' own orders, it was like the leash had fallen. And Voldemort thought he had control of the two chains, but in reality, he didn't...

He didn't. He didn't! He had no control over either leash! That was what Dumbledore meant when he had said he trusted Snape with his life. Not his actual life, but his _life_; his life's work. Snape was entrusted to keep up Dumbledore's legacy behind the scenes, where no other Order member could operate. It was he who would be the most help to Harry Potter. He would be the one to single-handedly, behind closed doors, ensure that Potter's mission would be carried out, and with the power of being the Headmaster, he would have the power to keep it secret.

Striding back to his humble, small home, Severus smiled sadly. He had found his purpose, for that he could take comfort in. Another check off the list, but his only regret was that it came from the death of an innocent life._ But it will not be in vain_, he swore. _Never will a death be in vain..._


End file.
